True, thou art brave!—o’er all the busy land

In patriot ranks embattled myriads stand;

Thy foes behold with impotent amaze

And drop the lifted weapon as they gaze

But what avails to guard each outward part,

If subtlest poison, circling at thy heart,

Spite of thy courage, of thy pow’r, and wealth,

370

Mine the sound fabric of thy vital health?

So thine own Oak, by some fair streamlet’s side,